10. Fragile Flower

Sometimes I feel like a fragile flower, blooming, lying open, exposed, trembling in the wind and all that would like to destroy, yet still standing strong.

The thing that makes me feel my own fragility is not harshness, not threats or games or cold callousness: those I have learned to deal with in my sleep; it is sweet words of unconditional support. It is people who both know me and don't know me who reach out and give me empathy without patronisation, give me love without pity, give me respect and a shoulder if ever I should need it. They read my words and did not label me a freak, or damaged. They offered respect, told me my words were beautiful. They saw me for who I was and loved everything they saw.

Those things make me fall to pieces inside.

Yesterday I could not shake the anxiety from its perch within. The whirling panic of something I could not grasp, just taste when the wind was just right. I couldn't work it out. All I knew was I felt starkly alone. Pinned under a hot, white spotlight on a huge, black stage. All eyes fixed upon me.

My own inner spotlight found my insecurities and blew them wide open. It was like drowning. Still I did not know why.

Then it hit me. All those lovely words, all that love and understanding and respect was alien. it made me uncomfortable, like I stood before my execution board. All that was the thing I was not used to. It was why I panicked when faced with real love from my man.

Too much, too good, too ovewhelming. To accept such positive stuff means you take it with wide open arms, you take it by opening yourself up. That means you're open to pain, too. I learned that young.

I am not stepping backwards, but forwards. Seeing now the sneaky path the voice of doubt takes within me. This voice served me as a child, helping me through the minefields of my mother's life. But now it is only to my detriment. I am stringing lights in all the dark corners so it cannot hide much longer. The paths are becoming bright and clear.

Knowing and understanding means diminished power to all the demons, the doubts, the critisisms that are so deeply learned they are almost a part of me.

Not for much longer.

This fragile flower is not so fragile. If it can stand the hurricanes my mother launched and still come out intact, perhaps bruised, perhaps wilted, perhaps with a few torn leaves, but still functioning, still most definitely intact, then it can stand the sweet onslaught of love and positive emotion and feedback from both friends and strangers. It can stand the overwhelming honesty and power of love and open heart form the man who loves me.

What happened with him happened for a reason. For how could he understand what was going on with me when I didn't understand myself? Now I do. Now I know I have a much better chance of dealing with such overwhelming emotion.

I just need to learn how to accept without sabotage. I'm learning, though. Already the power of the negative within is diminishing; how can it not when you dig up all its secrets. Without secrets, the negative really isn't so bad. Just another piece of luggage to throw out.

I'm not talking about a clean sweep - for we do need some critisism, some doubt, some of that bad stuff we hate. But there is both healthy and diseased, and I am determined be like a white blood cell and destroy all that is diseased and replace it with the vibrant, with the healthy.

It is starting. Make no mistake.

Even when I am teetering on the edge I am now okay. I am learning the tools to cope. And the first, best and strongest is understanding. Knowledge means fear has nowhere to hide. Knowledge means the constant critic in your head loses power. Knowledge means the road ahead is not so scary and dark, but lit with bright torches that show the way, step by step.

The fragile flower is not weak, but strong, yet fragile where it counts.

I think today will be a fine day.